Without Merit

by Colleen Hoover

  I grab a disposable razor from the bathroom and run it down to Quarter Four. She's in the shower, so I walk into her tiny bathroom and hand it to her over the shower curtain.

  "Thanks, sweetie," she says. "While you're down here, do you mind taking those dishes on the fridge back upstairs?"

  "Sure." I close the bathroom door and find a few days' worth of dishes on top of her mini-fridge. They're clean, even though she has no kitchen sink. She must have washed them in the bathroom sink.

  You would think she'd be desperate enough for her own kitchen by now. I don't understand why she still lives here. She could move into the house Utah is remodeling. She could lock herself in her bedroom and never leave, just like in the basement. It's been vacant since the last tenants moved out six months ago. It's not healthy for anyone. Especially her.

  As I'm walking toward the stairs with her dishes in hand, my eyes fall to a pile of medication on the table next to her couch. She's been on several different medications since as early as I can remember. Medication for her cancer, pain pills for her back, anxiety pills. I look back at the bathroom to make sure the door is shut. I set the plates down on the couch and pick up one of the pill bottles. It's the medication she takes for pain.

  My hands begin to shake as I open the lid. They always do this when I come down here and take some of her medicine. I'm always scared she'll catch me, or scared she'll notice some are missing. But with as many teenagers that are living in Dollar Voss now, it'll be impossible to pinpoint who did it.

  I empty a few pills into my hand and then shove them in my pocket. I put the bottle back where I found it and I take the plates up to the kitchen. I rush to my room and pull the pills out of my pocket and count them. Eight. I've never stolen that many at once. I like to spread it out so it'll be less noticeable. The bottle was more than half-full so maybe she won't be able to tell that eight are suddenly missing.

  I walk to the closet and pull the bottle of pills out of my black boot. I've been hiding them in this boot since I started stealing them. Honor hates these boots, so I don't have to worry about her borrowing them and finding my stash. I open the empty Tylenol bottle, adding the eight to the pile of twenty I've already stolen.

  I've never actually taken one. In all honesty, I don't even know why I steal them. I have no desire to become addicted to medication like she is. I think I steal them out of spite. Just like the trophy I took from Drew Waldrup's bedroom.

  I don't normally steal things. The few times I have, it's simply a return for my anger. I stole two sets of Valentine-themed scrubs from Victoria once. I had no intention of wearing them, but knowing she couldn't wear them made the theft worth it. I donated the scrubs to Goodwill and pretended I had no idea what she was talking about when she asked all of us if we'd seen her pink scrubs with the hearts on them.

  Other than the trophy from Drew Waldrup, the scrubs, and the pills, I've never stolen anything from anyone else. Not that I don't have the urge. I can't stop wondering what it would be like to steal Honor's boyfriend.

  I place the boot back in my closet and shut my closet door. On my way back to my bed, my foot meets something that isn't carpet. I look down and notice a sheet of paper on my bedroom floor. I pick it up and turn it over.

  I'm assuming the girl in the picture is me, since Sagan slid the picture under my door rather than Honor's. In the picture, I'm sitting at the bottom of a pool. A rope is tied around my waist on one end and the other end is tied to a floating cinder block. I flip it over and read the caption.

  "Coming down for air."

  I sit down on my bed and continue to stare at it. Coming down for air? What does that even mean? Why would he draw this?

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I walk across the hall and knock on his door.

  "It's open," he says.

  I open the door and he's sitting on his bed with his sketchbook in his lap. When he looks up and sees me, he pulls the sketchbook to his chest.

  "What does this mean?" I ask him, holding up the sketch.

  He stares at me a moment and then returns his attention to the drawing in his lap. "Sometimes I just get ideas, so I draw them."

  "You drew a picture of me drowning! Is that supposed to comfort me?"

  "It's not a picture of you drowning."

  "Then what is it?"

  He sighs and slides his notebook off his lap. He tosses his covers aside and stands up. He's not wearing a shirt and it's the only thing I can focus on, despite the fact that he's walking toward me. I have so many thoughts, but the closer he gets, the more jumbled they become. When he reaches me, he takes the drawing out of my hands but he doesn't break eye contact with me.

  "I like that you like my drawings, Merit. I drew this one and thought you might like it. It doesn't mean anything." He sets the drawing down on his dresser and then returns to his spot on the bed. He pulls his sketchbook onto his lap again and gets back to whatever he was doing before I interrupted him.

  I swallow my embarrassment. Why is he making it seem like I'm overreacting?

  I turn toward the door, but then I spin and walk back to his dresser and grab the drawing. When I walk out of his room, I close his door a little too hard. That only serves to embarrass me more.

  I hang the drawing next to the one he drew of me this morning. I don't like that he's drawn two pictures of me today. I would prefer to be ignored by him much more than being the center of his artistic attention.

  Chapter Eight

  I didn't even pretend to get ready for school this morning. I heard everyone rushing around in the usual morning Voss chaos, but I stayed in bed the entire time. I'm surprised Honor and Utah haven't told my father about my skipping school for the past two weeks. They hounded me about it for a few days but once they realized I wasn't listening to them, they stopped bringing it up. No one knocked on my door to ask where I was. Not even my father.

  I wonder if anyone would even notice if I ran away?

  They'd probably notice. They just wouldn't be upset about it.

  I reach under my pillow to check the time and notice a text from my father, sent an hour ago.

  Cowboys lost last night. I blame you. Please undress Jesus and burn His clothes as soon as you get home from school today.

  I know he's trying to be funny, but the fact that he incorrectly assumes I'm at school negates the rest of his text. It's like we don't even have parents. We have a mother living in our basement and a father living in his own world. No one has a clue what's going on with anyone around here.

  I check the time and it's just after noon. I get dressed and go scour the kitchen for something to eat. No one is here and I noticed the door to Luck's room is open, so he must be out looking for a job like he mentioned he was going to do last night.

  I eat a sandwich and then go to the garage to get the ladder. Thanksgiving is the next holiday, but I'm not really in the mood to dress Him. I take the ladder to the living room and begin pulling off the duct tape that's securing the trophy to his wrist.

  The door to the basement opens unexpectedly. I'm hoping my mother is about to walk out, but it's not my mother.

  It's my father.

  He quietly closes the door and then walks to the kitchen counter where he downs a bottle of water. He tucks in his shirt, grabs his jacket off the back of one of the chairs, and heads for the door. He opens it and is about to shut it when he finally sees me.

  It's like we've both seen a ghost.

  He glances back to the basement door then looks back up at me.

  Why was he in the basement?

  Why was he tucking in his shirt?

  Why does he look so guilty?

  I can't move. I'm holding the football trophy in one hand and the cheese hat in the other. My father is still staring at me, frozen in place. He finally looks down at his feet. He goes to pull the door shut but then opens it again and looks at me. "Merit." His voice is timid and regretful. I don't say a word.

  He doesn't follow my name up with anyt
hing else. Instead, he hesitates, then shuts the door and leaves me alone with Cheesus Christ.

  It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts enough to climb down the ladder. I walk over to the couch and sit down as I stare at the basement door.

  Did he just have sex with my mother?

  Did my mother just let him?

  I can't process what just happened. I can't.

  I immediately rush across Quarter One and open the door to Quarter Four. I run down the stairs to the basement and find my mother zipping up her dress. I look at her unmade bed and then look back at her. At her disheveled hair and flushed cheeks.

  "Did you just have sex with him?"

  When the words leave my mouth, my mother looks just as shocked as my father looked a few minutes ago.

  "Excuse me?"

  I point up the stairs. "I just saw him walk out of here. He couldn't even look me in the eye."

  My mother sits down on the bed, dumbfounded. "Merit. There are some things you're too young to understand."

  I laugh. "Age has nothing to do with it, Mother. Are you seriously having sex with him, knowing he sleeps in bed with Victoria every night? Is that why you refuse to move out? Because you think he'll leave her for you?"

  She stands up and walks past me, heading for her bathroom. She looks in the mirror and wipes her fingers under her eyes, getting rid of the mascara streaks.

  "Is that why you still dress up every day? Because you're trying to steal him back?"

  She spins around and takes a step forward. "I'm your mother and you will not disrespect me like this."

  Now that makes me laugh. "You call yourself a mother?" I can't even look at her. I turn around and make my way to the stairs. When I get halfway to the top, I spin and walk two steps back down. She's at the base of the stairs looking up at me. "You haven't been a mother to me since I was twelve. You haven't been a mother to any of us! And now I know why. Because Dad is the only thing you've ever cared about!" I run the rest of the way up the stairs. She calls my name but I don't return to the basement. Right before I slam the door, I yell down, "The only thing separating you from crazy is a few cats!"

  I go back to my room and slam my door. I fall onto my bed and check my texts again. There are two. One from Dad and one from Honor.

  Dad: I'm sorry you saw that. Please let me talk to you about it before you jump to any conclusions.

  Delete.

  Honor: Do you think you can cover for me tomorrow night?

  Oh, great. Another adulterer in the making. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.

  Me: Cover for you in what way? From Dad or Sagan?

  Honor: Both. I'll text you about my plans later. Have to put my phone away.

  I slide my phone back under my pillow. I'm curious what she's hiding from Sagan, but from the sound of their argument last night, it has to do with a guy. I'm sure one of her online friends is near death, so she wants to be there for him in ways that Sagan wouldn't approve of.

  I swear to God, this family is the worst. No wonder so many people hate us.

  I roll onto my side and face the wall. I stare at the pictures Sagan drew and trace all the lines in them. My fingers are on their third path when someone knocks at my door.

  Before I can say it's open, the door swings open and Luck walks in sporting a new head of jet-black hair. He's smiling, which only annoys me further. "Guess what?" he says.

  "I can't possibly."

  He plops down on the bed next to me. "I got a job."

  I roll back over and stare at the wall. "Good. Where?"

  "You know where we met?"

  "You got a job at Tractor Supply?"

  "No, it's on the same street as that, though. The coffee store. I'm a barista."

  I smile, even though I don't feel like it. But it's actually perfect for him. "When you say coffee store, are you referring to Starbucks?"

  "Yeah, Starbucks."

  I laugh a little, curious as to how he couldn't possibly remember the name of Starbucks. But it's Luck, so it makes sense. "Is that why your hair is black now? You had an interview today?"

  "Nah, I was actually going for green but I think I let the dye stay on for too long. Speaking of black, why is it so dark in here? This lamp is an insult to Thomas Edison." He fingers the string of my lamp, pulling it. It turns off and then he turns it back on.

  "I don't have any windows."

  "I can see that. But why?"

  I roll over onto my back. "My father divided all the rooms into two when we moved in. Honor got the half with the window after the wall was put up."

  Luck scrunches up his nose. "That's not fair."

  "I didn't want a window."

  "Well, then. I guess it worked out well." He scoots down until he's lying next to me. "Why are you still in bed?"

  I wonder if I should tell him about what just happened with my mother and father. I decide against it. I want to talk to my father first. I'm hoping I was wrong. I'm hoping he values his marriage to Victoria more than he valued his marriage to my mother. At least then I could believe he learned something from ripping our family apart. Because right now, it doesn't appear he learned his lesson at all. Sex is more important to him than his wives. Than keeping his family together.

  "Is sex really all it's cracked up to be?" I ask Luck. "Why do people risk so much for it?"

  "You're asking the wrong person. I don't think I value it as much as most people."

  "I hope to God I don't, either." I don't want it to rule my entire life and every decision I make. It seems that way with my father. With Victoria. With my mother. I want sex to be meaningless so it has absolutely no control over me. In fact, it would be great if I could just get it over with.

  I roll over onto my side and prop my head up on my hand. "Luck?"

  He's staring at me apprehensively. "What?"

  I swallow nervously. "Do you think maybe . . . we could . . ."

  Luck laughs, but I don't crack a smile. I'm dead serious, even though I can't seem to come out and ask him. When he sees that I'm not smiling, he lifts up onto his elbow. "No. I'm your uncle."

  "Step-uncle."

  "Not any better."

  "It's by marriage."

  "You don't even know me."

  "I know you better than you knew Angela and you had sex with her."

  He narrows his eyes at that response. "You're a virgin, Merit. I'm not having sex with you." He falls onto his back like the conversation is over.

  I'm not giving up. "You said yourself that people put too much weight on losing their virginity. I just want to get it over with. Sex doesn't mean anything to you anyway."

  He's quiet for a moment. And then, "Why? Why me? Why now?"

  I shrug. "I'm not everyone's cup of tea," I say, repeating how he described himself to me yesterday. "I've never really had the opportunity to get it over with until now."

  He looks at me and I can see in his eyes that he's contemplating it. I don't know if it's because he wants to help me or if it's because he's a guy and most guys would take me up on this offer without question.

  "You don't like me, do you?" he asks.

  "In what way?"

  "Are you attracted to me?"

  I debate lying if it will help him make his decision, but I go with the truth instead. I don't want him to think I like him when I don't. Even if it would help my case right now. "No. Not really. I mean, I think you're a good-looking guy. But I'd be lying if I said I was attracted to you."

  He stares at me a moment and then says, "Merit, you better be certain about this. Because sex is just sex to me and this won't mean a damn thing to me."

  "I don't want it to mean anything to you. That's the point."

  "So it's just a means to an end?"

  I nod. "The end of my virginity."

  He studies me closely, waiting for me to change my mind. When he sees I'm not going to, he shrugs. "Okay, then. Let me grab a condom." He hops out of the bed and I fall onto my back.

  He said co
ndom with an accent. He's starting to sound more and more American now. And I can't believe this is where my train of thought is when I just asked a guy to have sex with me. A guy I'm not even attracted to.

  Is this really happening?

  Do I want it to happen?

  I do. I want to get it over with. Rip the Band-Aid off. I don't want it to mean anything at all. I want it to be trivial with little effect on my life. I want to be the exact opposite of my parents.

  When Luck returns, he closes the door and locks it. "Do you mind if I turn off the lamp?"

  "I'd actually prefer it."

  He turns off the lamp and climbs into bed. We both crawl under the covers and begin to remove our clothes. "You sure about this, Merit?"

  "Yep," I say as I struggle my way out of my jeans. My heart is starting to race and my conscience is fighting to break through the wall I've put up. But I don't stop until all my clothes are off. Once we're both undressed beneath the covers, Luck scoots closer to me. "It probably won't feel good," he warns.

  I don't know why, but that comment makes me laugh.

  "I'm serious," he says. His hand meets my hip. "It might even hurt."

  "It's fine. My expectations aren't that high right now."

  He scoots closer and pauses with his hand still on my hip. "You want me to kiss you?"

  I think about his question for a moment. I'm not sure that I even want to kiss him. Is that weird? Of course it is. This whole thing is weird. "I'll leave that up to you."

  Luck nods, just as his hand slides up to my waist. It isn't until he reaches my breast that I feel the weight of what's about to happen. I try not to let it weigh too heavily.

  It's just sex.

  I can do this.

  Almost every adult in the world has done this.

  I can do this.

  He gently rolls me onto my back and then reaches for the condom. As he's putting it on, a good thirty seconds go by that I could use to change my mind. But I don't. Luck then rolls on top of me, holding his weight up with his hands on either side of my head. He brushes my hair back which is an oddly sweet gesture and then he reaches between us and spreads my legs.

  I close my eyes. He presses his forehead into the pillow beside my head. "You sure?"

  "Yes," I whisper.

  I keep my eyes closed and I try not to focus on the fact that I made such a spontaneous decision. But I can't really think of any negative consequences that will come of this. I won't have to worry about never losing my virginity and Luck will get to add another line to his book.